


Bohemian Nights

by ThusAtlas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Big Dick Draco, Conflicted Draco Malfoy, Conflicted Hermione, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Hook-Up, Light Dom/sub, Meet-Cute, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-War, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Some Plot, Sun-tans and sunshine, Teasing, Trigger Warning: Wanderlust, Wanderlust, enemies to lovers to idiots to lovers to enemies to lovers again, hollywood romcom, substance use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29905488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThusAtlas/pseuds/ThusAtlas
Summary: 'Get away, take a break' they said.'Find a holiday romance - live a little!' they said.So that's what she did. As a last chance of freedom before she settled into her career, Hermione escaped to a place far from the British shores. And it worked! She smiled under a different sun and laughed with strangers.That is until the winds of change blew into the harbour and she took a drink that changed her life forever.“Ready?” Malfoy asked as his hand settled at the small of her back, the cold of his thumb ring leaving a burning trail as it swept back and forth.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy - Relationship, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 18
Kudos: 70





	Bohemian Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Whilst I'm on a break from my main WIP, enjoy a Hollywood-esque romcom. 
> 
> Forewarning, explicit sexual content and substance use lies ahead. 
> 
> Thank you for Canttouchthis for fixing my ridiculous mistakes, and having the patience to read the same paragraph written in fourteen different ways. Check out Finding Kallipollis, I promise you, you will not be disappointed: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27577627/chapters/67459354
> 
> Without further ado, grab a drink of choice and a snack and enjoy!

Hermione pulled the damp hair from her neck as she ducked into the darkened doorway. She rapped her knuckles against the thick wooden door and waited. 

She peered out onto the bustling street; the colourful walls were vibrant in the Turkish sunset, all reds and golds and blues. Little lanterns hung on strings, lighting the busy street. Even though the day-time businesses were closing their storefronts, street vendors still sold their wares, their voices crossing and mixing over the hubbub of foot traffic. 

Idris, the kind elderly man who clerked her hotel’s front desk, had recommended a cafe run by his friend. She’d asked if he knew of any good places to unwind and relax for the evening, and his first few suggestions had been the ritz and the glam hotspots. 

“ _No,_ ” she had said, a painfully polite smile on her lips. “ _I_ _’m not -_ ” she huffed a breath and curled her hair around her ear, before fixing him a determined look. _“I don’t want to be a tourist, I want to see Istanbul, locally. I want experience.”_

Idris’ had pinned her with a scrutinizing look before his wizened face had cracked into a smile. 

“ _Find Buse and Enise, my friends, in the Miran Nargile._ ” 

  
  


Hermione brushed down her white dress and pushed her bag up her shoulder as she waited by the door. She had followed the directions that Idris had given her to a random alcove on a busy street which led to an address that clearly indicated the seemingly plain building before her. 

A small slat in the door clacked open, revealing the gentile face of a beautiful woman, her dark eyes shimmering in the ambience. 

“Hello,” Hermione said, inwardly wincing at her formality. “I was given this address by Idris Yaramazlik from the Marmara Taksim.” She handed over the wrinkled paper that Idris had given her, his distinct scrawled writing evident on the page. 

The woman took the note and her heart-shaped lips curled into an amused smile as she released a melodic laugh. 

“Of course,” she said. Hermione wrapped a long curl nervously around her finger as she heard the clunk of ominous locks. 

Slowly, the heavy door creaked open, revealing a busy enclosed courtyard. The space was enchanting, low tables and trees were spaced around the walls, lit by the muted colours from twinkling lights. A hypnotic melody played quietly under the lively chatter of the gathered people.

“Welcome Hermione, I am Enise, I am the hostess for the evening,” the woman said in a strong accent as she ushered Hermione in. “Idris’ note mentions that you’re alone this evening?” Enise continued as she sedately led the way through the courtyard. 

Hermione nodded, somewhat overwhelmed by her surroundings as her eyes darted from one detail to the next. “I am,” she confirmed distractedly.

Enise made a soft noise in acknowledgement before offering a gentle smile. “Then I know just where to seat you,” Enise said, beaming as she turned, her colourful skirt flaring wide. 

Hermione silently thanked her choice of sturdy heeled espadrilles as she skipped to follow Enise who sashayed gracefully through the narrow courtyard. In between each potted tree that glittered with colourful lights between its leaves, were low tables, brimming with laughing people. The atmosphere was heady and jubilant, the air heavy with sweet smoke that left a bitter taste on the tongue.

“And where is it that I’ll be sitting?” Hermione asked, as her gaze lingered on a group that exploded into laughter. 

Enise chuckled charmingly. “We don’t usually have tourists here, but when we do, they tend to be lone travellers.” 

Hermione frowned, tilting her head to look up at the beautiful woman. “Why?” 

“Because it is only lone travellers who wish to truly see the city,” Enise said simply with a soft shrug of her shoulders. “They speak to everyone; they’re open and friendly, they are here to try the new and are open to the world.” Her lips curled into a fond smile. “So they get to know the hoteliers and the locals, and if they are good people, they are sent our way on a night like tonight.”

A warm feeling bloomed in Hermione’s chest at the notion. “Night like tonight?” she repeated, bemused. 

“You don’t feel it?” Enise asked, looking over her shoulder and down at Hermione. “The East wind is blowing in the harbour, there is change in the air.”

Hermione nodded in acquiescence, choosing to let the superstition hang between them. She didn’t resent it as she would have during her school years. Through everything, she had come to acknowledge that divination and superstitions held hope, and _that_ , after the ashes of the war had settled and their dead were buried and gone, was in of itself more powerful than any magic. 

“Here you are,” Enise said, holding out a hand to indicate a table that sat under an arch of creeping vines and twinkling golden lights, woven through the leaves. The low table was nestled in amongst a varied array of comfy pillows, rugs and blankets, giving it a cosy appearance. The current occupants smiled up at her welcomingly. 

“This is Astrid from Sweden and Emmett from Germany,” Enise said, introducing a blonde woman who was so pale, she was a ghostly beauty next to the dark man, whose skin glowed like shining sard in the ambient light. Emmet raised his glass to Hermione and offered a rueful grin that she couldn’t help but return. “And this is Harper from America and Draco from Britain.''

Hermione’s smile froze on her face as she looked up from the olive-skinned woman to meet shocked grey eyes. She missed Enise’s next words, only hearing the melodic cadence of her voice as the chatter of the courtyard faded behind the rhythmic thump of her pulse. 

Draco Malfoy sat at the table, his long arms hooked over the back of the sofa, opening the collar of his white shirt to reveal a hint of his clavicles. Though his face was the perfect blend of unadulterated shock and horror, Hermione was quietly surprised by his health; the last she had heard of him some time ago, he had just been released from a year-long stint in Azkaban. And here he was, in front of her in a random cafe in the middle of Istanbul, his sun-kissed skin glowing golden under the twinkling lights. The more she looked, she couldn’t help but note the way his shirt strained across his broad chest, or the way that the shadows from his high cheekbones cut a sharp aristocratic line. 

Or the way that his eyes shone dangerously in the low, smokey light.

“Hermione?” 

A gentle touch on her arm pulled her abruptly back from the piercing eyes to the harsh reality. She flinched as the neighbouring table burst into uproarious laughter; the noise of the world around her, suddenly too loud.

“Hermione?” Enise repeated as she tilted her head to meet Hermione’s stricken gaze. “Is everything alright?” 

“Do you two know each other?” Emmet asked, his German accent curling the words to a growl. 

Malfoy leant forward, placing a half-drunk beer bottle on the table. 

“We do.” His voice was like silk in amongst the riotous noise around them and Hermione blanched at the traitorous shiver that travelled down her spine, to settle deep in her navel. “And for that reason, I best take my leave.” 

Groans and protests erupted from the group as they pleaded with him to stay, but he casually brushed them aside as he stood. 

“No,” Hermione said, feeling flustered with a sudden onset of anxiousness. “I’ll go.” She smiled hesitantly at him as he looked up in surprise. “I’m the new one, and you’re all settled so…”

“Well that won’t do either,” the brunette - Harper - stated with a frown. “Surely whatever _this_ is,” she said as she gestured between Draco and Hermione, “isn’t so bad that you two can’t let it go and have a drink?” 

Hermione was suddenly very conscious of the sleeveless state of her white dress; she brought her arm across her chest and ran a reassuring finger over the glamoured scars. Malfoy’s eyes widened, catching the movement; he scrubbed a hand down his face and turned with determination to pick up his jacket. 

“I could.” Hermione's heart pounded in her chest as she watched Malfoy’s finger freeze, mid-reach. 

Could she though? Could she really ‘break bread’, so to speak, with _him?_

“See?!” Astrid exclaimed as she gesticulated at Hermione. “There is no need for bad blood here! We can all stay!” 

Malfoy met Hermoine’s gaze; if not for the uncertainty that clouded his eyes, Hermione wouldn’t have been able to see through the perfect visage of indifference, painted onto his refined features.

“Are you sure?” Malfoy asked, his voice low as he straightened, his jacket clutched to his chest. 

_Am I sure?_

The whole idea behind her travel was to get away from it all; to break away from the cloying hold of post-war greyness that had seeped into the pores of Britain. In a few weeks, she was set to begin her career at the Ministry, which she had worked so hard to achieve. Hermione had just wanted to breathe, to see the world as alive and thriving instead of hard-lipped and grieving. For the years since the war, she had been volunteering wherever she could, repairing Wizarding Britain. She had spent the first few months literally re-building Hogwarts and had stayed long enough there to settle in the next cohort of students and take her N.E.W.Ts, before she had left with Hagrid. A great number of magical creatures had been displaced during the war and the Ministry’s approach wasn’t getting them anywhere. So she became an advocate - impassioned and learned about the laws on Creature Rights. And during the nights, she had taken on shifts at St Mungo’s as a volunteer, just to ease the Healers’ load. 

And finally, she had landed a secure, salaried position in the Minister’s Office, a place where she could advocate and legislate to enact real change. 

But she was exhausted. Burnt-out. She had realised she needed to escape to a place where no one knew her name, where the smiles weren’t tinged with sadness and people still knew that they were alive. 

And yet, there stood Draco Malfoy, right in the middle of her Bohemian paradise, a stranger with a dark past, who looked at her with mesmerising eyes that shone with an equal measure of fear and trepidation. 

She let out a steadying breath between her glossed lips. 

“I’m sure.” 

“Good!” Emmett exclaimed as Hermione stepped into the seating area. The cushions and rugs were strewn everywhere, causing her to tip and lose her balance; Malfoy’s hand curled around hers, dwarfing hers in his hold as he righted her. As conversation resumed around them, Malfoy held her gaze and guided her gently around the table. 

Hermione restrained the eyeroll that threatened as she saw that the only open space for her to sit was next to him. 

“Last chance to back out, Granger” Malfoy murmured quietly as she stepped closer to him to take her seat. She bit the inside of her cheek as goosebumps raised where his warm breath brushed against her skin. The scent of his rich spice cut through the heady, sweet smoke that peppered the air of the courtyard, making her breath stutter. 

“Isn’t running from a fight more your thing?” she replied quietly as she looked up at him through her lashes. 

There was no denying that time had been kind to Malfoy since she last saw him. He now stood a full head and shoulder above her, which made the aristocratic way he looked down his nose at her, all the more exaggerated. 

“We’ll get another round,” Astrid said to Enise as Malfoy lowered Hermione to her seat; she couldn’t help the way that her brow rose at his pureblood etiquette shining through - even if it was aimed toward her. “What would you like ‘ermione?” Astrid continued, her bright face turned toward her. 

“The favourite house whiskey please,” Hermione replied as Malfoy retook his seat beside her, so close she could feel the heat that radiated from him. 

“So,” Harper said, as she turned in her seat to face them, her hands folded expectantly in her lap. “We’ve been introducing ourselves an’ all, but trying to get anything from Draco here, is like trying to get blood from a stone!” 

Emmett laughed deeply. “Ja, this man is not forthcoming. Tell us, how do you two know each other?” 

Hermione pursed her lips as her brow creased in thought. 

“Bollocks,” Malfoy muttered beside her. She looked over and watched his throat move as he tipped his head back and drained his beer bottle. 

“We uh,” Hermione began as she tore her eyes from the sight and refocused on the expectant group. “We went to school together.” 

“No way!” Harper exclaimed. “And you two didn’t plan this?!” 

Hermione shook her head hopelessly as Enise returned, a tray of drinks in hand. 

“No,” Malfoy replied as he leant forward to swap his empty bottle for the fresh beer and a frosted tumbler from Enise. “I think we can trump this situation up to deus ex machina,” he said dourly as he handed Hermione her drink before leaning back in his seat. 

Hermione was surprised at the laugh that bubbled up her throat as she rearranged her dress over her crossed legs. Malfoy took a swig of his bottle and quirked a questioning brow at her. 

She pursed her lips to restrain the smirk that threatened to break and took a generous sip of her drink. 

“So tell us, what were you both like in school?” Emmett asked, a mischievous grin on his face.

Hermione knowingly laughed at that question as she dropped her head forward in dismay. The ridiculousness of the situation was mind-boggling. 

“Well,” she began as she ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. “He was...um…” She turned to look at him assessingly. Malfoy shifted in his seat, his face set in resignation. “He was difficult?” she asked, her eyes widening in question, biting her lower lip. Malfoy met her gaze, confused and surprised by her answer. 

His pink tongue peeked out to quickly wet his lips. “I’d say that is a nice way of putting it.”

“And how was Hermione?” Harper laughed as she lit a cigarette. 

Hermione’s pulse ratcheted up a notch as Malfoy’s grey eyes danced between hers, searching for… something. 

He cleared his throat, his gaze never straying and said: “She was annoying?” 

Hermione’s laughed again at the absurdly reductive descriptions of their relationship - or lack thereof. 

“Oh ho!” Astrid cheered as she clapped her hands loudly, drawing Hermione’s focus from Malfoy. “So he pulled your hair in school, did he?”

Hermione took another sip of her drink. “No, he hates it too much, he wouldn’t _dare_ touch it.” She laughed. “And he reminded me of this often.” 

“Uh-huh,” Emmett said, his grin widening. “So you never pulled his hair either then?” 

Hermione turned, alarmed at the sound of Malfoy snorting indelicately into his drink. 

“No, she just punched me instead,” he said with a smirk.

The others laughed; Astrid continued with her applause. Hermione tilted her head to look at him, a shrewd smirk on her lips. 

“You absolutely deserved that Malfoy, don’t even try to act the victim,” she said. 

“What did you do?” Harper asked. 

“I was attacked by a… wild dog,” he said, catching himself, “and I alerted the correct authorities, who -”

“Oh come on!” Hermione cut in indignantly. 

“-who assessed the creature as being a legitimate danger to the public -” Malfoy continued, raising his voice to speak over her.

“You went to your father, who rigged the whole thing,” Hermione said.

“- and it was ruled that the creature was to be put down,” Malfoy said conversationally. 

Hermione blustered. “It wasn’t dangerous though! You provoked it!” 

Malfoy raised his brow, a smirk dancing on his lips. “So as you can see, I am the victim, I followed the _correct_ procedures,” he said pointedly before continuing, “but then I’m the bad guy, and she punches me for it.”

“ _Exactly_!” Hermione said decisively. “You deserved it.” 

Malfoy met her gaze, a questioning look lingering in his grey eyes. 

“Have you ever realised, of all the things, _that’s_ the only thing you punched me for?” he asked. 

Hermione stilled, a small crease forming between her brows. 

“No...” she said, leaning back. “Surely not.” 

Malfoy nodded, as a chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “I assure you, Granger, that was the only time I had the pleasure of being acquainted with your right hook.” 

Hermione cast her mind back, thinking through their various unfavourable interactions, as Malfoy turned back to the group. 

“The real kicker of it all, was even though _I_ was the victim, and then _I_ got punched in the face - the bloody thing escaped!” 

Hermione’s drink paused on its journey to her lips as she stiffened with surprise. 

“No!” Harper gasped. “How?” 

Malfoy shrugged and opened his mouth to speak when Hermione smiled with vicious satisfaction.

“Well, I couldn’t actually let the thing be executed.”

“You’re fucking joking.” 

She looked up into Malfoy’s shocked face staring down at her, his mouth agape as the table exploded in laughter.

“No I’m not,” Hermione said sweetly. “You should know by now, I’d never let you win.” 

Malfoy’s eyes widened a fraction before lowering to a hooded gaze. He swallowed twice, his voice hoarse as he spoke: “Well I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

Hermione looked into Malfoy’s glittering grey gaze and paused. The chill of the night air whispered over her skin, raising goosebumps with its delicate touch. Her breath hitched, her pulse fluttering in her throat. She felt trapped, pinned under his imposing presence. The intensity of his gaze was magnetic and intense, making short work of the walls she had built around herself, leaving her feeling naked before him. Her fingers tightened their hold on the cold glass as if desperate to ground herself in sensory reality. The intensity of his gaze was magnetic and intense, making short work of the walls she had built around herself, leaving her feeling naked and waiting before him. 

A loud bang shattered the moment. Hermione’s attention snapped to the neighbouring table who erupted into a round of cheers as a frothing bottle began to fill glasses. 

“Sure,” Harper drawled, her dark eyes lit by the burning ember of her cigarette. “You two _totally_ hate each other.” 

Hermione knocked back her whisky to cover the burn in her cheeks as the ensemble chuckled. 

“If you lot insist on being pricks, I’m going to need something stronger,” Malfoy sighed and raised his hand to flag down Enise from over the courtyard. 

“A bottle of Claz Azul and five glasses,” he ordered dismissively.

“ _Please,_ ” Hermione said, with a smile to Enise ignoring Malfoy’s arrogant sneer.

Enise’s bell-like laughter rang through the air. “Of course, anything else?” she asked the rest of the group. 

“Ja, a narghile sangria mix please?” Astrid asked to Emmett’s delight. 

“Merlin,” Malfoy swore softly as he drained his second bottle. 

Hermione’s brows creased as she watched Enise leave to get their order. She looked around the group, who had started chatting excitedly about different flavours and spices, for which Hermione had no context. Malfoy leant forward to place the emptied bottle on the table. 

Hermione swallowed her pride; though there was no denying their animosity, she knew him. He wasn’t a stranger and there was comfort in finding something familiar in an unfamiliar land. 

“What’s narghile?” she whispered. 

Malfoy movements stilled. He looked over his shoulder, a perfect brow arched in question. She clenched her jaw and held his knowing look, which slowly morphed into his signature smirk. 

“Well well,” he rumbled as he sat back in his seat. He shifted to hook his long arm over the chair behind her head. “The Golden Girl really is as pure as snow.”

Heat bloomed across Hermione’s cheeks as the rolls of his aristocratic purr stirred the butterflies that suddenly took flight in her chest. She pursed her lips and forced herself to meet his steady gaze. They sat close enough that she could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the only part of him that moved. Other than that, he was a princely statue cut from an enticing blend of marble, gold and silver. 

Hermione tilted her chin and arched a challenging brow, refusing to bend under his intense stare. 

“Principles do not equate naivety,” she said, addressing his subtextual implication. Malfoy’s jaw popped. “But,” Hermione continued, offering an olive branch, “no, I’ve never had the opportunity to try this before.” She gestured with a loose hand at Enise who had returned with a large tray, laden with a large white bottle and a tall pipe. 

Malfoy shifted, adjusting his seated position next to her as Enise offloaded their order, seemingly happy to slip back into their strange truce. The others around the table were gesturing excitedly, jabbering about various drinks they would have to try next. 

“There’s nothing to it,” he said softly. Hermione looked back to see him focused ahead; the lines of this profile were straight and sharp, every angle perfect. “ _If_ you want to give it a go, then go gentle. Suck, then breath - _slowly._ ” He looked at her out the corner of his eye. “It’ll be shit the first couple of times you do it, but you’ll get the rhythm eventually. But Granger, don’t think you have to.”

Hermione blinked in surprise at his quiet reassurance before she laughed. Malfoy made a noise of question in the back of his throat as he watched her, a bemused smile tilting his lips. 

“Thanks for looking out for me,” she said dryly, pinning him with a smirk and a pointed look. Malfoy nodded and turned toward the group once more, sucking a tooth, lending to his smug veneer.

“You’re welcome,” he quipped. 

Hermione snorted inelegantly at the ridiculousness of it all as Malfoy leant forward to retrieve their glasses.

“Are you in?” Emmett boomed from across the table. Hermione winced, cursing her soberness as she turned to the German who held out one of the long, twisted hose to her in offering. She felt Malfoy’s heavy gaze on her as she took the delicate wooden piece between her fingertips. 

“Go gentle,” Malfoy murmured; her eyes flicked to him as she placed the nozzle between her lips. “Pull it in, but don’t gulp it,” he continued, his focus intent on her lips. She did as he said and started at the intrusive warm heat that plumed in her mouth. 

“Breath in through your nose slowly and take it back,” he said, his voice was rough as she watched him through her lashes. She breathed in sharply and the urge to cough was instantaneous; her lungs urgently screamed to expel the foreign gas. But she couldn’t. Not under the weight of that grey gaze that bore into her. 

It was frivolous and ridiculous, but she was determined not to cough and concede the imaginary war she had constructed between them.

But then she hacked, purging the sweet cloud. She blindly knocked back her drink that was thrust into her hand, desperate to ease the burn in her throat. She shivered as the sharpness of the tequila stoked her taste buds and warmed her chest. She blinked blearily up to Malfoy who held his bottom lip between his teeth, biting back his laughter. 

“Want to try again and actually do as I say this time?” he said when the assault on her senses calmed. Hermione threw him a withering look. “And this time, can you try not to be a heathen and actually drink this tequila properly?” he added conversationally.

She opened her mouth to argue as he reached for the bottle. 

“I mean sip,” he said, pouring her a new glass. “Not everything is a race.” His fingers brushed against hers as he handed the glass back to her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she replied archly. 

Malfoy smirk was slow as it curled the corner of his lips. “Not everything has to be hard and fast Granger.” He hooked the pipe from her fingers, “sometimes the highest peaks of pleasure, come from the slowest build.” 

Hermione was unable to look away as Malfoy placed the mouthpiece between his lips, his cheeks hollowed slightly, elongating the shadows of his high cheekbones. Smoke curled from his lips, enshrouding the glint of his eyes in a haze.

“Slow,” he commanded as she took it back from him. She tightened the cross of her legs, squeezing her thighs together as the hose touched her lips, conscious of where it had been moments before. 

_Stop,_ she chided herself, as she pulled the smoke into her mouth. The liquid in the bowl bubbled steadily as she breathed the smoke of sweet fruits and wine on the tip of her tongue. Begrudgingly, she acknowledged Malfoy was right as she exhaled the smooth cloud.

“See?” he drawled as she handed him the pipe. Hermione sighed and took a sip of her drink to stop the smile that threatened; instead, she enjoyed the way the caramel tequila mixed with the burnt saccharine tangy aftertaste. 

“Shut up Malfoy,” she said. She hid her amusement in another sip of her drink as he barked a laugh. 

“Whatever you say, Granger.” 

With every turn the hose took around the group, the air became thicker and heavier, saturated with the heady mix of tobacco, sangria and tequila. Hermione felt loose and warm as she laughed loudly at Astrid’s frenetic gestures of the anecdote she told and Harper’s exaggerated expressions. Malfoy shifted forward, the hose between his lips, to pour another round of drinks from the bottomless bottle. Her attention caught on the hint of rose in his tanned cheeks, and the way his light lashes fluttered as tendrils of smoke curled from his nose like a waiting dragon. 

He looked back to casually offer the hose, making no move to give it to her other than the angle of his wrist. Hermione rolled her eyes and uncurled herself from her seat to lean forward; she placed one hand on the table, the other on his thigh as she closed her lips around the mouthpiece. Their eyes met, the space between them thick with alcohol and heat as Hermione breathed the sweet smoke. Neither made any move to put space between them as she let the smoke eek from her lips, clouding the air. Her eyes never left his as he took a long, drawn inhale. Malfoy’s eyes glittered as he handed her a glass, breathing the soft plume from his nose of her smoke. 

“I don’t get it,” Harper slurred, jarring Hermione’s haze. 

“Don’t get what?” Astrid squeaked through a hiccupped giggle. 

“These two,” the American continued with a snort, “who _apparently_ hate each other.” She laughed as she accepted the hose from Malfoy.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her drink. She wasn’t proud that it took her so long to understand what they were referring to. The realisation of how their close position looked was belated, sluggish, as she noticed her hand still curled around Malfoy’s firm thigh. 

She took a longer sip of her drink. 

She didn’t move her hand.

“People hate each other for all sorts of bullshit reasons,” Emmett said, the smoke from his toke circled around him like a strange sort of halo. “Sometimes it’s more inward hate at themselves than hatred for the other.”

It was Malfoy who laughed this time, his rich peels of laughter charming the smoke in Hermione’s lungs. 

“No not this time,” she said breathlessly, her fingers tightened their hold on his thigh as the world tipped slightly. “He really does hate me.” 

Malfoy turned to her, his brows creased in a frown. 

“That does not look like a man who hates you,” Astrid said.

Emmett nodded with exaggerated seriousness. “Agreed, there’s a fine line between love and hate.”

Hermione paused, wetting her lips as she thought. 

It suddenly occurred to her, like a wave of sobriety washing over her, that she was talking to Muggles who would not understand the contextual implication of her ‘Mudblood’ scar or his Dark Mark. 

“True,” Malfoy said slowly as he shifted, angling just so that his hand came to rest at the small of her back as he reached for the hose once more. “But it was more like we were at war with each other.”

The others laughed as Hermione’s breath caught in her throat and heat coiled within her. She could feel the cool metal of Malfoy’s thumb as it moved in slow gentle circles through the thin material of her dress. 

“Ah, but all is fair in love and war, no?” Astrid said. Hermione’s eyes flicked to Malfoy as she felt, rather than heard, the rumble of his responding chuckle. She couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol that ran through her veins, the sweet smoke that filled her lungs, or the intoxicating hedonistic atmosphere of the colourful courtyard, but for the first time in her life, she _saw_ Malfoy. She saw the slight creases in the corners of his eyes, standing as ghosts of his past smiles. She saw the light stubble that covered his jaw. She saw the veins on the back of his hands and the blonde hair that dusted his forearms. It was like Hermione had blinked and the tinted glasses she had worn for years were removed, vanishing the sneering sixteen-year-old and replacing him with the man before her. 

She reached for her drink to occupy herself. Malfoy tensed as she leant back in her seat, causing her to meet his gaze questioningly. He looked down at her, his grey eyes darker - closer to charcoal than she had seen before. She frowned slightly, confused by the sudden shift in his countenance. And yet, he continued to look at her. 

Before she could think further on the matter, Malfoy settled, lowering in his seat and turned his attention back to the group. She jumped slightly in surprise as she felt his fingers slip from the small of her back to curl tighter low around her hip, teasing the crease of her groin.

“Before you all jump to conclusions, I’d like to point out that she literally hates me for the same reason,” he drawled, his voice husky with smoke. 

Hermione shrugged with her mouth, her brows lifted. “I do,” she said seriously as her heart pumped a staccato in her throat. “But he also was a wanker.”

Emmett hummed thoughtfully as he took a drag on the hose.

“Yes, I can see the hate between you two,” he said.

Hermione nodded as she leaned in, using his thigh to push herself forward, breaking slightly from the heady cloud of Malfoy’s scent to take the hose from Emmet. 

“We do - we have to,” she replied as the movement of her hips caused the cold of Malfoy’s ringed thumb to slip over her backside. She settled back into the crook of his arm and glanced at him curiously as she felt him slowly release his sudden tension that had appeared once more.

Astrid looked from Emmett to Hermione and Draco, her face furrowed in confusion before clearing in realisation. “What will happen if you don’t hate each other then?”

Hermione shrugged, expelling a plume of smoke. “Malfoy will burst into heretic flames.” 

The blonde huffed a low laugh as he leant further back, stretching himself out under her hand that still lay upon his thigh as he took the hose from her. She swallowed as the feel of his muscles tensing pulled her from the conversation. 

“She’s not wrong,” he drawled, his voice dampened by the tendrils that wisped from his mouth. “I’d bet my mother would be the one to start the fire though.” 

Hermione’s brows raised in surprise. “I thought your father would be the one?”

Malfoy shrugged, his lips quirked into a devil-may-care smirk. “He wouldn’t get there before my mother.” 

He leant to pass the pipe to Harper and then took a sip of his tequila, distracting Hermione’s attention with the flick of his tongue as it caught the errant drops. 

She drained the last of her glass to distract her from the burning grip and cool metal on her hip. She leant forward to place her glass on the table and it was only when she looked back, feeling Malfoy tense beside her once more, that she looked down and realised how high on his thigh her hand had slipped unbeknownst to her. 

She bit down on her lip as her fingers tightened their hold, just below the juncture of this thigh. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard his quiet grunt and felt his long fingers reach further, grip tighter, pulling her in. She released a tremulous breath as she met his dark gaze through her lashes and jumped at Astrid’s squawk of delight. 

“We should do shots!” the Swede exclaimed as Harper giggled at Emmet look of displeasure. 

The next hour passed in a haze of disjointed conversation and twisted coloured lights. Occasionally, Hermione could pick out the notes of the quiet melody that danced through the courtyard, weaving between the sudden loud eruptions of noise from the surrounding tables. The flow of the group’s conversation ebbed and rallied, jumping from one topic to the next. And with every turn of discussion, small glasses filled with syrupy Sambuca were passed around the group. Somewhere along the way, Malfoy had ordered water for the table, and Hermione had unashamedly whimpered with gratitude as he’d handed her the cold glass - much to his amusement. 

But the more that reality slipped, the more Hermione became aware of the constant heat that lay along her side. The only thing that kept her from slipping into the haze that threatened her senses was the piercing burn of Malfoy’s long fingers that teased the juncture of her thigh, occasionally brushing alternative feather-light touches with determined strokes against the lip of underwear. She shifted in her seat, her hand at home on his thigh, trying to ease the maddening ache in her core that he strummed and teased. 

“You can’t possibly sit there and say that Germans make the best cars when you’re sitting across from a Brit and American,” Harper exclaimed as Emmett laughed. 

“What about Sweden?” Astrid squawked.

Malfoy’s low chuckle sent fissions down Hermione’s spine, adding to the pooled heat between her legs. Seemingly unconscious of his actions, his finger slipped under the waistband of her knickers, teasing the soft, untouched skin through her thin dress.

“Do you genuinely believe that a Volvo is a valid competition for an Aston Martin?” he drawled. 

Hermione frowned slightly and looked up at him. Her question quickly died on her lips when she realised how close he was. She leaned in slightly, enticed by the mixed scent of his spiced colognes and the sweet smoke that clung to him. The urge to run the tip of her tongue up the line of his neck was overwhelming. She quickly reached for her drink, snapping her from the trance. 

“Did you know…” Hermione jumped at Malfoy’s husky murmur in her ear, “That your hair has come alive just like it used to in double potions.”

She swallowed thickly at the sudden closeness as she raised her chin. “It’s the heat,” she replied lamely. 

Malfoy’s low laugh dripped like sin over her skin. “I also think it’s about to try and kill me,” he said.

For a brief moment of reprieve, Malfoy removed his hand from its subtle torture to her pelvis as he brought his arm around from behind her. Hermione turned to him and her reply barely reached her lips before her breath caught in her throat. Malfoy’s dark gaze ensnared hers, and his tormentingly gentle touch brushed against her bare clavicle.

Slow. 

So slow. 

His finger trailed across her skin, exposing her neck and shoulder to the night air.

She could barely breathe, her breath caught between gasping and sighing with the raw want that coursed through her.

The hubbub of the courtyard was drowned by the deafening pound of her pulse in her ears as Malfoy’s fingers tantalizingly brushed the nape of her neck before they began to trace the notches of her spine. 

Hermione couldn’t look away from his gaze that was dark enough to be black in the evening ambience. 

“I -” Hermione began before his fingers reached her waist; the spikes of pleasure from his teasing caused her to straighten her seat, arching toward him. 

Malfoy’s heated gaze flashed triumphantly and his lips curled into a smirk as his fingers continued their southern journey. With every second that he came closer to returning to his original post of toying with the outreaches of her core, the tighter she wound. 

As his hand reached around her hip, his fingers hooked under the waistline of her lingerie. He leaned in, swarming her senses with his rich cologne. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his hot breath setting her newly exposed skin aflame. 

Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she knew that tomorrow would eventually come, and with it would bring the sun and sobriety. But for now, the only she knew to be true was how much she ached for his clever fingers to reach their destination. 

“No,” Hermione breathed as her heart skipped its hammering beat. “But -” she inwardly cursed herself as her mouth worked independently from her faculties - “I’ve got to know why.” 

Malfoy made an amused noise before he lowered his head further. “You said it yourself Granger, principles do not equate naivety.” She shivered as his lips brushed the soft skin of her neck. “I made peace with the fact that your hand upon my thigh would be the death of me this evening.” 

Hermione bit her lip as she tightened the grip of the hand in question, revelling in the responding twitch of his muscles beneath her palm. “All is fair in love and war,” she breathed, mimicking Astrid’s sentiment from earlier. 

Malfoy’s fingers tightened to a bruising grip low in her waistline, dominating her pelvis, commanding the heat to her core with his touch. 

“I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

Hermione started violently as Harper’s voice slammed her back into reality. Malfoy straightened casually to face the group, his hand still in place.

“I think it’s nearly closing time actually,” Emmett said as he peered at the other tables. 

Heat flushed Hermione’s neck as she caught Astrid’s knowing look towards her that was mirrored by Harper before she drained the last of her drink. 

“Shall we settle this tab?” Hermione asked. Though every part of her trembled with tension as Malfoy’s fingers continued their torturous teasing, her voice was surprisingly calm.

Harper nodded and turned to flag down Enise to ask for their bill as the others began to gather their belongings. 

Hermione looked to Malfoy to find him already watching her. 

“We should…?” she asked, unsure of what to say. Malfoy’s eyes searched her before he gave her hip a final squeeze before releasing it. The sudden bundle of nerves released in Hermione’s chest and she squeezed his thigh in return before she made to move. 

Enise returned a moment later, her skirts swirling, her smile easy as she looked down at the gathered group.

“I’ve got it,” Malfoy said as he stood with a level of grace that made Hermione jealous - she knew that between the alcohol that poured through her system and the heat that pulsed at her core, she would need help standing. The group made utterances of refusal that he casually brushed aside as he pulled out a wallet. Hermione watched, curious to see Malfoy in a muggle exchange. Enise laughed warmly at something he said as she took the money he offered her. 

“I wish I had someone who hated me like he hates you,” Astrid said with a grin as she came to stand beside Hermione. “Need a hand?” 

Hermione gratefully took the Swede’s hand and carefully got to her feet. She trembled as if on newborn legs. It was as if Malfoy had spent the last few hours stripping away her layers, leaving her exposed and vulnerable like a raw nerve. 

“We really do,” Hermione tried, though she knew her smile tainted her words. Astrid hummed in agreement as amusement sparkled in her eye. 

“Whatever you say,” she chuckled. “I wish you both every joy in your _obvious_ misery.”

Hermione huffed in amusement as she felt a warm presence appear at her side. 

“Ready?” Malfoy asked as his hand settled at the small of her back, the cold of his thumb ring leaving a burning trail as it swept back and forth. 

“Ja,” Astrid said before turning to the others.

Hermione’s nerves suddenly galvanized as she left the sanctum of their table and fell in step with Malfoy. It felt like the table had provided them with a space out-of-time, safe from their realities. They walked quietly through the courtyard, every nerve and cell in her body thrummed with anticipation and excitement. But as they grew closer to the wooden door that would take them from the magical courtyard, a little voice in her head grew louder. Though Malfoy’s hand remained on her back, keeping her close to him, she couldn’t help but wonder at what point he would come to his senses. 

With their final goodbyes to Enise, the group exited onto the street. Harper and Astrid looped their arms around one another, singing a tune off-key as Emmett guffawed. 

_Now or never._

She licked her lips as her nerves suddenly choked her words. 

“Can I walk you home?” Malfoy asked quietly. Hermione met his gaze as he looked down at her through his lashes, a guarded look in his eyes.

She smiled, relieved as she stepped into his space. “Please.” 

His lips slipped into a grin just as his free hand caught her chin between his long fingers. 

“Where is home?” he said, his voice rough and low as his gaze flicked to her lips. 

Hermione quivered in anticipation as he crowded her; she placed her palms on his broad chest to steady herself as his hold on her chin tilted her head to look up to him. 

“Taksim Square - The Marmara,” she said; her heart pounded the same beat as the throbbing ache of her core. She swallowed heavily, her breath skittering across her parted lips. 

Malfoy’s dark gaze searched her face as he seemed to mull this information over. 

“How about you walk me home instead?” he purred as he slowly swiped the pad of his thumb over the soft flesh of her lip, toying with it as he pulled.

Hermione’s brows creased as she sluggishly processed his words through the fog of need and his spiced cologne that clouded her senses. 

“Why?” she croaked, stepping closer into him. After his torturous ministrations over that last hour, she was simultaneously cold from the lack of his touch, while she burned from the kiss of his fingers upon her skin. 

“Because if I know you, you have a shitty queen-size bed in that hotel, and I don’t know about you, but if _this_ is happening, I want more space to lay you out.” 

The hand that didn’t control her chin snaked around her waist, pulling her roughly to him. She gasped as he held her tight, her body pressed to his; she could feel the way his hard planes shifted and tensed with his quickened breath. 

“So eager,” he rumbled, his eyes flashing as he leaned in, their lips almost touching. She strained to get closer but he held her firm. Dark amusement flashed in his eyes before he leaned in further. Hermione couldn’t control her mewl of want as she felt his teeth lightly graze the length of her neck. She rolled her head back, opening herself to him, freely giving him more access as she needily clawed at his chest. She shivered, pushing herself against him as his breath grazed her ear. 

“Can I take you home Granger?” he breathed. His hand left her chin to trail down her side, completing the circle of his hold around her waist. 

“Yes,” she breathed. She pushed her hands higher, mapping the breadth of his shoulders before burying her fingers into his perfectly coiffed hair. 

The sound of Malfoy’s grunt, so close to her earshot a pulse of need straight to her cunt. She barely had a chance to draw breath before he walked her backwards, until her shoulders met the stone wall of a shadowed entrance. 

“Is this your revenge, Hermione?” he murmured, his lips grazing her jaw as she bared her neck to him. Hermione’s gasp caught as he pushed his thigh between hers. Her name in his rough silken voice was like the missing note of a chord, that plucked at the well of need that grew with every second, completing a harmony she hadn’t realised was lacking. 

“Is it your mission to drive me insane?” he breathed as he pushed his thigh against her. Hermione choked and hitched her hips, desperate for the friction that he had denied her. She arched her back, pushing her breasts against his chest as his hands slowly retraced their earlier southern steps. He palmed each cheek of her arse before taking a firm hold. She whimpered, helpless with need, every part of her body aflame as he lifted her higher on his thigh till she felt his hardened length against her.

“I’m going to take you, Hermione,” he whispered the words against her lips like a solemn promise. 

She froze, her body thrumming with need as he held her. His eyes danced between hers as if seeking something. 

Hermione wet her lips. Her heart hammered in her chest, her pulse pounded in her ears. Their quickened breaths were deafening in their shadowed corner. 

Tomorrow would be a different day. But for now - 

“Draco...” Hermione breathed. She felt as if she was on a cliff edge, looking down onto the crashing waves below. She leaned in, cutting the space between them so that barely a hair’s breadth remained. “Yes.”

Draco stilled, his body taut against her. It was like the whole world held its breath, silent and waiting. 

“Fuck,” he murmured before he crashed his lips to hers. Hermione moaned, her body arching, pushing needily against his hard planes, searching for friction. Draco’s hands slid around down her arse, his fingers brushing against her cunt before he scooped her thighs and lifted her. His skilled tongue quickly dominated hers, its strokes commanding but gentle, luring her into submission. The press of his hips in the juncture of her thighs demanded her absolute attention. His bulge nudged her core, teasing, coaxing, promising. She keened desperately; her skin burned from his firm grip, his hot breath, the immovable hardness of his body as he pinned her to the wall. 

Her fingers trembled as she reached for his shirt buttons, hungry for more of him. Draco’s sinful laugh vibrated against her lips as his large hands slipped up her thighs over her dress to her arse once more. With every pop of a button, his strong palms kneaded and spread her cheeks, seducing more arousal from her already soaked pussy. 

“We need to -” he began as he brushed his lips down her jaw to lavish the pulse point on her throat. Hermione threw back her head as she worked another button free. “We need to get to the hotel,” he grunted brokenly; the burn of his stubble against the sensitive skin of her neck was like gasoline to a raging inferno. 

“Sure,” she absently replied as she slipped her fingers over the exposed skin of his chest. She purred in satisfaction as she mapped the ridges of his abs that contracted at her touch. Draco hissed before nipping the juncture of her neck as one of his hands disappeared. To her dismay, he straightened and hitched her leg higher around his waist to reach into his pocket. After a moment of struggle, he withdrew his wand with a proud smile. 

“We should probably walk,” Hermione said breathlessly, as she trailed the silvery lines spanning his chest that caught the low light of the lanterns that hung in the street. She glanced around them, peering into the shadows. 

“I think the others left,” she mused. 

“You overestimate my patience if you think I can walk,” Draco said as he cocked a brow at her. “Why would we do that?” 

Hermione looped her arms around his neck, pushing her breasts against him. “Because we’re not sober.” 

She leant in with the intention of placing a chase kiss against his lips, but like a stricken match, Draco’s mouth opened for her with a guttural moan, low in his throat. Slowly and indulgently, they moved differently than before. Instead of the instant air of desperation, their tongues danced in tandem, steadily building the heat between them. 

Before Hermione could recognise the pull in her navel, they disappeared with a soft pop, reappearing within a darkened room. Her sigh of relief was quickly swallowed by Draco’s urgent lips.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” she gasped as he marked a trail of biting kisses down her jaw. She yelped as his palm connected a stinging slap against her arse. 

“Stop thinking for five minutes,” he growled against the shell of her ear as he walked them into the room.

Hermione quivered as the shift of his belt buckle pressed urgently against her with every step. “I’m just saying -”

“Well stop.” Draco deposited her onto the arm of the sofa. He flicked his wand, igniting the lanterns and sconces around the room. 

Hermione took in the palatial room as Draco’s lips found her neck once more. Her eyes roamed the tall ceilings, the marble and gold. 

“I’ll give you a tour later if you’re so interested,” Draco murmured into her ear, pulling her attention. Hermione laughed quietly as her hands skimmed the lines of his chest and made quick work of the remaining buttons. 

“I’d like that,” she replied. 

She slipped her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, pulling him closer. His fingers brushed over her skirts and hooked behind her knees, stroking the tender skin there as she met his lips in a searing kiss. Their previous urgency returned; their teeth clacked, their breaths gasped. Hermione’s fingers slipped lower, following the line of his trousers. Her breath stuttered as she traced the long thick outline of his cock that strained for freedom. 

“Fuck,” Draco whispered reverently as he broke away to breathe. His hips twitched as her fingers danced over the ridge of his head. He swallowed heavily before crushing her lips in a bruising kiss. 

Hermione retraced the outline to reach the button of his trousers, smiling into Draco’s urgent kiss. She sighed in relief as she made quick work of the fastenings and shivered with excitement as she reached in. Draco stilled, seemingly stunned as she wrapped her fingers around his thick shaft and pulled him free. 

Her mouth salivated at the sight of him. He was perfect in every way. His blonde locks were ruined from where her fingers had pulled at them. His lips were rouge and bruised and glistening. His gaze was hungry and dark, his pupils blown as he watched her in turn. The firelight of the room made his sun-kissed skin appear golden, the cartography of the lines that mapped the planes of this chest made her heart skip. From the faint white lines to thick cords of his muscles, he was powerful, lean and lithe yet dangerous, his perfection marred by violence. Hermione swallowed as her gaze followed the indented V to his intimidating cock that she held in her hands. 

He was perfect. Thick and long with a perfect pearl of precum gathered on the tip. Draco’s fingers twitched against her legs, his body tense as he watched her - waiting. Hermione looked up, meeting his predatory gaze as she slowly slicked the precum down his length and back up. His eyes fluttered as she swiped a thumb over his head, before descending with a gentle twist once more. 

“Gods Hermione,” he croaked, as his hands began to slide up her thighs. He swooped down, capturing her lips between his in a kiss that took the breath from her lungs. Her hand continued to work him as he trailed her skirt higher with the same feather-light touch that had driven her wild all evening. Except now that he overwhelmed her every sense, she was keenly aware of the surprising roughness of his fingertips against her skin. He paused and pulled back, his fingers toying with the wand holster on her thigh. 

“It unfastens at the back,” she said, following his gaze, slowing her hand on his cock. She reached for the clasp with her free hand but Draco stopped her, surprising her with another kiss. 

“Leave it,” he growled against her lips. His hand resumed their journey higher until they reached her apex. Hermione hissed in pleasure as he traced a finger along her slit through her underwear. 

“Fuck,” he rumbled, as his finger pulled her knickers aside. “For me?” 

Hermione blushed as the sound of his finger gathering her slick arousal filled the room. She whimpered and looked up desperately into his heated gaze as his finger teasingly circled her clit.

“Don’t play coy - you did make it your mission this evening to ruin me,” she said through broken breaths. With each pass of his finger, he wound her higher, never quite applying enough pressure to push over the edge. 

“I’m only returning the favour, princess,” Draco quipped before he captured her lips, holding her in place, demanding her full attention. Her entire being was consumed by the flick of his tongue and focused on the agonising touch on her clit. 

“Please,” she sputtered as Draco broke away. Her fingers flexed around his cock, her grip faltering in her haze of pleasure. Nonsensical pleas fell from her lips as she dragged air into her burning lungs. Every part of her shook and trembled, she teetered on the precarious edge, so tight that part of her feared what would happen when she broke. Draco hummed questioningly, and a wicked gleam flashed in his eyes. He gathered her hair in his hand, forcing her head back to look at him. 

“What did I tell you earlier?” he said. Hermione almost cried as his fingers disappeared from her clit until she felt the rough pad slip down her folds. She spread her trembling thighs shamelessly wider. 

“Not everything has to be hard and fast.” His voice, rough and low, striking the pool of need within her with every word. 

A mewl of raw need tore from Hermione’s throat as his fingers slid into her. Her cunt contracted, pulsing greedily around his clever, long fingers that crooked within her, coaxing her closer and closer to the edge. Her free hand searched blindly for purchase, her nails marking his skin while she held his cock, her thumb absently massaging the underside as her coordination faltered.

Her pleas for release were swallowed by his hungry kiss, his hand still wrapped around her hair.

“You’re as beautiful as I knew you’d be,” he whispered fiercely against her lips. He moved his thumb to her clit and pressed, massaging it in small slow circles. The cold slide of his thumb ring became a burning point in her slick heat and the pinpoint focus that violently shattered her. 

The world fell away to white behind her eyes, her limbs tingled with numb heaviness. She was in limbo. A space between. The only path back was Draco’s fingers, playing her cunt as if he were a Virtuoso. 

And then she breathed. 

Air filled her lungs as all sensation came flooding back. She arched, completely at his mercy and control as she screamed his name. With every curl of his fingers and swipe of his thumb, wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her, keeping her high, wracking her body. 

At some point during her orgasm, she had let go of Draco’s cock, which now rested patiently, hard and attentive against her thigh. Her fingers uselessly pawed at his arm. She breathed a sigh of relief as he let go, his fingers slipping from her folds. 

Hermione’s pulse pounded in her ears as she caught her breath. 

“I’ve imagined you like this many times,” Draco said as he brought his hand up, his slickened fingers glittering in the firelight. Hermione watched, enthralled as he placed them into his mouth, his eyes fluttered shut and his cheeks hollowing as he sucked. Hermione whimpered at his moan. She was acutely aware that he was tasting _her,_ and that fact was equally as erotic as it stripped her, baring the last of her to him. His eyes snapped open as he licked the last of her from his fingers. His grey gaze burned as his free hand slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulder.

“I want more,” he rumbled as Hermione’s dress slipped, baring her breasts. “I want all of you.” Draco reached forward and pulled her into a deep kiss. She moaned as she tasted herself on his tongue that plundered her mouth, stealing her breath. 

“If you want me to stop, I will,” he breathed when he pulled back. 

Hermione grasped his arms as he leant her back until she tipped, her shoulders landing heavily on the cushioned seat behind her, her hips and splayed thighs still spread on the arm above. Draco’s fingers curled into her hips and pulled them higher; Hermione raised her arms above her head, holding the sofa beneath her for balance in her upside-down position. She watched, mesmerised, her cunt clenching in anticipation as Draco’s large hands bent her legs to her chest, opening her up on full display for him. She swallowed heavily at his wolfish grin. 

“Draco,” she breathed, torn between the arousal at being so compromised by him and at the apprehension of what the look in his eyes promised he would do. 

Never in her life had she imagined she would be this way with a man - let alone Draco Malfoy. And yet as his tongue slipped into her, fucking her, tasting her, as his hot breath danced over her spread lips, she knew that she would be ruined for any other. Hermione cried out as his mouth closed around her clit, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue swirling and flicking, urging her closer to the edge. The vibration of his responding groan shot straight through her, tearing at her, pushing her higher. Her legs quivered under his commanding hold as his teeth grazed the sensitive nub, sending a piercing shot of pleasure through her. Hermione moaned, her voice hoarse, every part of her tense as Draco lapped at her like a starving man. 

She snapped. Her legs strained against his firm grip as her whole body tensed and quaked. 

And still, he sucked her clit into his mouth, pushing her over once more, pulling the wave to him. Hermione screamed, her fingers clawing their hold on the cushions as she writhed helplessly beneath him. 

As her piercing high began to ebb, her thighs trembled as her cunt contracted, desperately. She gulped, filling her burning lungs as she blinked up at him. 

“You taste so fucking divine,” Draco murmured as he ran the flat of his tongue over her lips. 

Hermione pushed against his hold and huffed, frustrated at his immovable grip. 

“Draco,” she groaned as she brought one hand up to pull at his hair. His grey eyes flicked to hers, a smirk tilting his lips as his tongue flicked her clit. She had never seen anything so erotic in her life. 

She burned. Pleasure curled within her, renewed and alive, more excitable than before. 

“I need you,” Hermione breathed, her fingers twisted their hold in his hair, trapped between holding him where he was and pulling him off her. 

He released her pussy with an obscene pop and raised a brow. 

“I’ve just realised that my kink is you begging,” he said before his lips latched around her clit again. Hermione’s moan was a cocktail of frustration and pleasure as his skilled tongue flicked, faster than before, racing her to the edge. 

Hermione twisted her fingers, pulling. “Dra-”

She came with a sudden yelp as he brushed his teeth over her nub. He pulled her into his mouth, consuming her so intensely, so entirely that he ripped her orgasm from her. 

“Draco please,” she whined as her pussy fluttered, aching and empty. 

It was torture. Pleasure so good, so sweet and precise, it bordered on the delicious line of pain. 

“ _Please!_ ” she begged, as he placed soft nips at the tops of her thighs, each one sending a jolt of electric heat to her core. 

Draco chuckled wickedly as he moved to nip the cheeks of her arse. Her breath hitched. She was tormented by the graze of her stubble against her skin as he explored her body, which was then quickly followed by the cooling lave of his tongue. With every pass of his sinful mouth, he finished by gently biting, hard enough to keep her from relaxing into his ministrations. 

“ _Draco!_ ” she snapped, pushing against his hands with urgency. The blonde’s dark laugh stirred the heat in Hermione’s stomach. 

“Very well,” he sighed as if put upon. Hermione almost cried in relief when he released her thighs. She blinked up at his hungry gaze, suddenly hit by the realisation of what she was asking from him. 

With little effort, Draco reached down and scooped an arm under her shoulders and straightened, smoothly bringing her to his chest. Hermione held his shoulders as he hitched her around his waist, lifting her from the arm of the sofa. 

“I do have legs you know,” she murmured against his lips. 

“Oh I’m sorry, should I put you down?” Draco snarked. Hermione scrunched her nose and tightened her hold on him. With the way her thighs still quivered she knew that walking was off the cards for a little while. 

Not that she’d admit it. 

“Finish what you started,” she demanded, as she pushed her fingers into his hair, scraping her nails against his scalp. “That’d be a good lesson for you.” 

Draco hummed innocently as they crossed the threshold of another room. “Seeing as we’re about personal growth this evening, perhaps it would be best if you learned to choose your battles more wisely.”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply when he suddenly dropped her legs. He caught her with a strong arm around her waist, and then gently lowered her to the floor. 

“This is coming off,” he ordered, as he slipped the dress from her shoulders. She stood, slightly in shock as he gathered the skirts and quickly divested her of the clothing and lingerie, leaving the holster on her thigh. 

“On the bed,” he commanded. He took a step into her space, forcing her to step back until something hit the back of her knees. 

Hermione sat and shimmied up the satiny sheets, watching hungrily as Draco peeled the shirt from his shoulders, his muscles tensing and rippling. In the low light of the room, he looked powerful and strong, his eyes predatory. He was masculine and dangerous, his commanding presence overwhelming in Hermione’s naked state. 

But she needed him. She swallowed thickly at the sight of his thick cock that stood proudly in the V of his hips. 

Draco lowered himself to the bed and slowly crawled over her body, forcing her back against the pillows. 

Hermione jolted, struck by a forgotten thought. She reached for the wand at her thigh and wordlessly cast the necessary charms with a sheepish smile. Draco huffed an amused laugh and placed a soft kiss on her breast. 

“Last chance to back out, Hermione,” he said softly, repeating his sentiment from earlier in the evening as he lined himself up between her thighs. Her breath hitched as she felt the head of his cock slip through her folds. 

“Isn’t running from a fight, more your thing?” she whispered, echoing her response as she ran her hands over the warm skin of his broad shoulders. She shifted her hips, nudging his cock in further. Draco hissed, his gaze burning. 

Hermione had a second to consider that maybe he had been right - maybe she should choose her battles more wisely. 

Her cry was unrecognisable as he sheathed himself, hard and fast within her. Her cunt clenched desperately as he pulled back, his thick member dragging, pulling the ecstasy from her. Hermione looked up to see Draco’s satisfied grin as she struggled to form words through the breath he pushed from her chest with every forceful snap of his hips. His pace quickly increased, building with intensity with every thrust, filling the room with the slaps of their skin. 

She twisted her hands in the sheets as Draco straightened. He lifted her legs from around his waist to his shoulder and leaned forward once more. Hermione’s world whitened as he drove his cock deep into her, the angle shifting from before. 

Over and over, he pounded into her. With every thrust, his cock hit a spot that reduced her entire being to the inferno he built. Her spine arched, pushing her chest up as the pleasure reached its peak. All she knew was the way that his cock filled her, completing her, breaking her and putting her back together again. 

Sweat dewed on her skin as she gasped, her voice hoarse from the incoherent moans. Draco slowed, dropping her legs to land heavily by his side before he pulled out. 

“On your knees,” he commanded over her whimpers. Hermione blinked up at him confused. He raised his brow; his glistening chest heaved in exertion as he watched her, hungrily. 

Hermione sat up on shaky limbs and turned. Her body trembled, weak with exhaustion as she held herself on all fours. She felt Draco run his cock over her lips, gathering her arousal, nudging her tender clit, sending spikes of electricity through her. In one smooth motion, he entered her, quickly forcing her back to the edge. Her elbows collapsed against the bed as she keened at the full feeling. She rocked herself, desperate for the friction to push her over. Draco was still as she fucked herself on his cock save for the way his large hands settled on her arse, needing the flesh. 

Low guttural moans rumbled through his chest as she quickened her pace, chasing her end. She started when Draco shifted to bring his arm under her. He straightened, putting her on display as he held her against his chest. 

“You will be the death of me,” he growled in her ear as he fucked into her. She released a hoarse cry as his cock hit that spot once more, summoning her absolution, bringing her ecstasy. Draco set a punishing rhythm with one arm wrapped over her chest, the other holding her throat, forcing Hermione to bare herself to him. 

Her orgasm tore through her, pushing the scream from her lungs as her world shattered. And he fucked her still, his thrusts powerful and quick. 

“If I could keep you,” he growled as the hand at her throat trailed down her body to circle her clit, keeping her high in her pleasure. “If I could, I would. I promise you,” The snap of his hips stuttered, his breath broken against her skin. “I promise you, I would give you the world Hermione.”

She crested another peak, her body numb with sensory overload as Draco’s hips stuttered their final throws. His shouts joined hers in their echoes from the walls, a perfect cacophony of dark and light. 

Draco barely caught them as they tipped forward; he allowed Hermione to drop the short distance from his arms to the mattress before he slipped himself from her and collapsed at her side. 

Hermione lay still. Her breath ragged in her chest, her cunt twitching from the last of her orgasm. She lay there till her breathing settled and her heart returned to a regular beat. The sweat on her skin cooled in the night air, chilling her skin. She shivered and curled in on herself, debating if now was the point that she should leave. 

She felt the mattress shift at her side and a strong arm curled around her, scooping her up. Hermione yelped weakly as Draco manhandled her under the covers and into the crook of his arms. She peered up at him through the hair that had fallen into her eyes. 

“Sleep,” he murmured, as a gentle finger pushed the errant curls from her face. She opened her mouth to reply but he cut in. “If you want to leave I’ll apparate you to your hotel,” he said softly. “But you can sleep here. Whatever you decide though, do it quickly.” 

Hermione bit her lip as she thought. She was warm and the bed was very comfy. And if she was being honest with herself, the thought of the empty bed back in her hotel room, as opposed to Draco’s warm body, was horrifyingly jarring in her post-coital state. She curled into him, relaxing into his hold with a content sigh. 

The last thing felt before she slipped into unconsciousness was his arms tighten around her, securing her, and the soft press of lips to her skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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